


Shatterpoint

by JakkuCrew (fromstars)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Prophecies, Backstory, Character Study, Gen, Jedi, Jedi Training, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Canon, Teen Boys being Reckless and Flirty, Teen Years, Telepathy, The Dark Side as Horror Leitmotif, The Force, Yavin 4, knightpilot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromstars/pseuds/JakkuCrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Kylo Ren is forbidden within the First Order.<br/>The story of Ben Solo, however, remains beneath the surface of the Rebellion -- a story of Yavin 4, the charming Poe Dameron, Luke Skywalker's Jedi Praxeum, and the call of the Force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Brief Note: I had to decide who Rey was (and other Canon mysteries). I feel like there are two equally good options, and I could have written it either way. So what you see is more or less a coin flip. Also while this is definitely Ben/Poe, it's also a backstory to Ben Solo in general. Extended notes will be at the end of the fic. Enjoy.

 

 

> **A Long Time Ago, In a Galaxy Far, Far Away...**

 

 

 _That which is most hidden,_  
_Reveals itself most easily._  
_That which is most strong,_  
_Contains the greatest weaknesses._  
_Where there is dark, there is light._  
_And where light is cast, shadows follow._  
_In discerning void where there is substance,_  
_The substance of the void may be understood._  
_And in seeing the many possibilities,_  
_The single path of the Force is known._

 _Thus, when the Force is revealed,_  
_Its unchanging course may be altered._

_This is what the Je’daii call **Shatterpoint**._

 

\-- Holocromnibus of the Benevolent Teacher Ketu,  
Je’daii Master of the Great Temple of Balance, Akar Kesh.  
Year 25,802 BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin.)

 

* * *

 

 

**I.**

 

The Star Destroyer had been renamed the _Rebel Dream_. A fact which Ben Solo did not overlook when he traced its corridors over and over again in his mind.

Down the metal hall, he could hear the sounds of blasters ringing out, ricocheting off of the walls. They were coming up to the command cabins, working their way through the rooms. Ben tensed, fear coiling in his gut as the security alarms blared above his head. While he couldn’t hear footsteps, he felt something he couldn’t name. It was twisted and thick, like a rot spreading through the ship, infecting the air around him. The taste of acid lingered in the back of his throat, and the noise around him began to fade away.

Winter, his mother’s attendant, said something as she barricaded the cabin doors, but the words were muddled. Then there was a sharp copper tang of blood inside his mouth, and a girl’s terrified wail. Ben ran.

The next scream was his own.

In the dim light of the room, Ben Solo watched the scene unfold - at once present and absent. Details he shouldn’t have remembered leapt out at him, but important pieces — the larger chunks — were gone. Shadows against the walls twisted, ravaging the steel interior of the ship, and his eyes stung with hot tears that weren’t his own.

They were his sister’s.

Padmé Solo cowered before a mercenary, her wide eyes magnified in fear. She wailed, crying out for her older brother as the man between them advanced on her. At three years old, Padmé had known nothing but the safety of being her older brother’s shadow - had always been at his side. Except this night. Except for the time he hadn’t been right there.

Hatred threaded itself through every fiber of his being as he’d reached out towards the man before him. He was thirteen again, only thirteen that week, and he’d known what the force could do, but not how much he could control. The intruder’s ribs cracked loudly as he reached out and wrenched them hard against the far wall. Blood bubbled forth from their broken nose, and Ben shielded Padmé, blocking the intruder from reaching out for her.

“Leave her alone!” he shouted, feeling heat pricking underneath his skin, demanding his attention. Without a second thought, Ben outstretched his hand, and curled it into a fist. When he squeezed, the man before him began to writhe, face turning red and lips going blue.

“Who sent you?” he demanded, as Padmé clung to his leg, whimpering against his knee. “Who did this?”

The other man’s eyes rolled heavenwards before he heaved and coughed. Blood ran over his mouth, slippery and shining red. “I am one of many,” he rasped. “-who sees a future without the so-called _destiny_ that was promised to us by your family. Without freedom, or democracy—”

 _“Liar!”_ Ben said, twisting his wrist and pulling on something invisible that had the man howling with pain. “Why are you doing this?”

“First comes the day, then comes the night, young Jedi,” he said, breathing heavily. “You cannot stop it. There are no more prophecies left to ravage us with. There is nothing!” He reached for the blaster he’d dropped, freezing only when Ben moved again, twisting back his arm.

The man laughed.

He laughed harder when Ben clawed through his mind inexpertly, and when Ben’s fist tightened again, pressure building against his windpipe. There had been shouting, other voices, others in the room later that dragged Ben and Padmé away, but Ben could only hear the assailant’s voice. It was sweet and sickly, ringing in his ears, watery with blood, sharp under his skin.

“Power won’t save you,” the man shouted at him.

Ben screamed.

He woke to the sound of his wooden practice saber clattering against the far wall of his room. Cold sweat broke out over him, and he rubbed at his eyes vigorously. He hadn’t meant to reach out with the Force — not that fateful day years ago, and not that night. It was lucky that this time he’d only reached for a training weapon. That there had been no one around to see him lose control even when unconscious.

He shivered, sleep still dragging at his body as he reached for the twisted blankets at his feet. It wasn’t happening again. His mouth was painfully dry, but he was on Yavin 4, not the Rebel Dream. And Padmé was safe on Hosnian Prime, guarded by Winter and his parents.

They were all safe.

Ben pulled his knees to his chest, blocking out the chill as he breathed in slowly. He closed his eyes, and repeated the words again in his mind.

_They were all safe._

 

_______________

 

Dawn on the moon Yavin 4 was often more shadowed that it was full of light. The sun was slow to filter through the dense canopy of Massassi trees and the jungle floor tended to wear a delicate mantle of fog until midmorning. And when warmth finally arrived it did so lazily, lulling the inhabitants of the moon into a false sense of moderate weather. On better mornings, sunlight would sheer through water crystals hanging high in the atmosphere, dazzling the skies with Prism storms.

Ben, however, knew better — Yavin 4 could be more tempestuous than temperate. Early morning meditations were chilly, exhausting, and filled with birdsong. But the alternative was stormy, stifling, and sticky. So instead of avoiding sunrise, Ben met it most mornings, meditating under the boughs of the Jedi Temple tree.

This morning, however, he was struggling to lose himself to the flow of the Force. His meditation had begun to dance a line between calm and asleep — and the tree’s heady fragrance wasn’t helping.

 _“Focus,_ Ben,” Luke said warmly, circling around the seated teenager. Ben exhaled in the humid jungle air of Yavin 4, sensing his master’s movements with his mind.

“Inhale,” Luke directed.

Ben straightened, and fought off a tingling itch in his nose. He needed to only last a little while longer before the end of the meditation —

— instead, he sneezed, hunching over as he did so. Dark brown curls spilled over his eyes, and Ben blinked dizzily once.

Luke sighed. “I guess we should postpone meditation under the Temple tree until pollination season wears off,” he said. “Is it like this under the Dameron’s tree, Ben?”

 _“Mm,”_ Ben swallowed, struggling to recall the one thing about the Dameron’s that didn’t hold his attention. A twin to the tree he sat under now, theirs was magnificent to behold: its leaves tugging threads of the Force around its branches, glowing ethereally. It just wasn’t as _interesting_ as other things - or persons - to be found on those grounds. “There’s the same dust everywhere,” he filled in, as the memory surfaced.

“Well,” Luke said. “You’ve done enough today. We can end it here.”

“Are you sure?” Ben said quickly, pulling his knees towards his chest. “I can continue —“

Luke held up his non-biomech hand. “It’s fine. Ben you haven’t had any—“ _Incidents. Problems. Disasters,_ Ben filled in silently, biting the inside of his cheek. “—issue with meditation lately. Besides, I overheard Ros mention a piloting race this afternoon.”

Ben pulled himself to his feet, the crown of his head brushing some of the Temple tree’s lower leaves. Of course Ros would be the one to let slip to Luke that there was a race planned. The other padawan was sharp, quick on his feet, but much too talkative.

“I wasn’t going to race,” Ben said, taking the subject change in stride. If it was out of pity, his Uncle didn’t show it too obviously. Luke had been right — he hadn’t had issues lately with meditation. He’d been calmer, more at ease, more able — which was why he’d been so eager to keep at it.

“So watch with the other padawans,” Luke said, brushing pollen off of his robes. “I heard Poe is racing. Not that I’m encouraging it, but if I had to make a gamble…” Luke grinned at his nephew, before turning to walk back to the Academy.

Ben felt the warmth of a flush travel the back of his neck, but kept silent as he followed behind Luke. Betting wasn’t supposed to happen on the small Yavin 4 races, but putting credits on Dameron was something more like an investment. Not that he invested anything personally.

“I’m surprised you don’t race,” Luke said, filling in the silence as he picked his way through the path. “What with all the piloting genes in the family.”

Ben inclined his head. His uncle was something of an ace — bold, efficient, always on the nose. And his father was — well, his father was a force to reckoned with. Never mind the Kessel Run, Han Solo did things in the skies that shouldn’t have been possible. And his grandfather, Ben knew, had been a real Podracer, on tracks more dangerous than fun.

Ben was a fair pilot, but there was something else that drew him to the races.

“I prefer being in the pit,” he said, thinking of the purring engine he’d installed custom on a repulsorcraft. He was more fond of design than engineering, but what he couldn’t do himself, he dictated to others. “Less collisions to worry about. Mom always did say Dad was knocked on the head a few too many times.”

Luke laughed.

 

**_______________**

 

There were many things that could be predicted by attuning to the Force. Poe Dameron was not one of them.

Ben spluttered as the impact of being shoved up against a wall winded him. Not quite the greeting he’d expected from the older boy. Not the reaction anyone else in the room seemed to have expected either. Ben raised a brow.

“Poe, calm down—“ Tamora called across the room belatedly. “—At least let Ben explain,” she said, wiping down the engine of Poe’s racer with a rag. Ben wondered how long the petite gearhead had been trying to knock sense into Dameron. She shrugged at him, brown shoulders reaching her ears.

“What did you do?” Poe said, excitable energy coiling in his arms. “The racer. It’s—“ he struggled to find the word, then settled, “I said fix the engine, not replace the whole _kriffing_ craft.”

“You said make it _better_ ,” Ben countered, meeting Poe’s gaze levelly. “The controls are all the same—“

“Oh the _controls_ are the same? Benji, I’m looking at a whole new vehicle,” Poe huffed, easing his weight off of Ben’s shoulders.

“It needed it, Poe,” Tamora injected, skirting past them both as she walked over towards her toolkit. “We both thought so.”

Ben licked his lips, and then straightened. He was already taller than the other boy, but he didn’t have quite the same swagger Dameron had. In lieu of Poe’s outstanding ability to stare down anyone, Ben made do with an actual downwards glance.

“I worked on the design of the body in addition to your engine—“ Ben began, fighting the urge to reach out to Poe and project calm through the force. He’d tried that tactic before, and it had produced…mixed results. “—but I checked the dry weight of the engine. It’s not the only thing messing with your speed, and Tamora agreed with me.”

Poe turned to glare over his shoulder at the mechanic. Ben took the opportunity to breathe deeply.

“Look, the swoop racers are great, but it’s obvious you prefer real aircrafts over glorified land speeders. So I looked into older podracer designs, borrowed some blueprint holos—“ Ben explained, nudging Poe back towards the racer. “We changed out the flaps, modified the curves a bit for aerodynamics, fixed the engine, put in a new nacelle, and best of all, got rid of that clunking noise you told me about.”

“You fixed the clunk?” Poe said, tension easing from his shoulders. “How fast do you think it’ll go?” he asked fervently.

“Don’t crash.”

“How. _Fast?”_ Poe repeated, tapping the metal body of the airspeeder, as if to read the machine with his fingers.

“I wouldn’t attempt the Kessel Run, but—“

“Under forty parsecs?” Poe asked, still running his hand feverishly across the newly installed engine cowl.

“Please,” Ben gave him an affronted look. “Under thirty. At _least_.”

Tamora looked up from her kit, and sighed. She tucked a stray black curl back towards the bun she’d twisted the rest of her hair back into. “I told you, Dameron. He also upgraded the stabilizer when I mentioned it. You should get in the cockpit, even the thruster responds better. Feels good in the hand.”

Poe looked back and forth between Ben and Tamora for a moment, before he lifted his hand off of his speeder’s gleaming brown and blue body. “You’re kidding,” he said easily, all remnants of upset gone as he wriggled to glance into the cockpit.

 _“I think,”_ Poe announced after a moment of scanning the interior of the speeder. “I love you. I might even have to propose.” He pressed his cheek against the craft, wavy brown hair splaying out over the metal.

Ben made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

Tamora helpfully clapped his back as she walked past him. “A bit sudden, don’t you think?” she said dryly as Ben struggled in vain not to flush.

Poe scoffed, coiling his way into the pilot’s seat. “What do you know about the pure, sudden love of a speeder?”

“ _Shrike_.” Ben managed, after he cleared his throat. Of course Poe meant the speeder. He was a pilot, through and through. And really, Ben wished he knew better.

“Benji, you say something?” Poe asked, strapping himself into his seat.

“I’ve been calling it _Shrike_. I thought it was fitting. Lighter, faster—“

“ _Sexier_ ,” Poe supplied, as he revved up the ignition.

Tamora groaned. “It’s a machine,” she said, glaring as Ben as if to accuse him of egging Poe on. Ben took a half step back, letting her grab a repurposed Rebel helmet that Poe wore in flight. She handed it over the edge of the cockpit to Poe with a roll of her eyes.

“A tight little machine that makes my ass look amazing, Tamora, and don’t you forget it.”

Tamara shook her head. “I’ll be in the hangar if you need anything,” she said, before turning on her heel and walking away.

Poe laughed, warm and rich. “You promise this baby will run?” He asked, leaning over the side to meet Ben’s gaze.

“Jedi shouldn’t deal in absolutes,” Ben replied, lifting his chin. Poe merely grinned in response as he tugged on a pair of flight gloves. He wiggled his fingers, adjusting to the feel of the fabric and then lowered his voice. He was just audible over the thrum of the engine warming up.

“Fly with me, Ben?” he said, and Ben bit the inside of his cheek. Poe was not — well he didn’t use the Force. Still, in spite of this, Poe Dameron seemed to know more than a few mind tricks. Several involving a glint in his eyes, a well placed pout, and thick brown eyelashes that were difficult to ignore.

Ben wavered.

“ _Please?_ Just for the test run,” Poe pressed, biting his bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to actually bruise anything earlier…”

“You know if Master Luke figured out I was doing this,” Ben warned, already feeling his resolve being eaten away.

“What, you’re going to tell him?” Poe said, darting a glance to the far end of the hangar where Tamora had gone back to work. “ _Master Luke,_ ” he imitated, “-I thought you should know I like watching Poe fly, but inside his brain, because I find it more… _exciting_ that way.”

“I was thinking more, _‘I've been abusing my ability to use the force’_ ,” Ben replied weakly. Ever since Poe had figured out how easy it was for Ben to slip against people’s minds, to rest on the surface of other’s thoughts, he’d been insatiably fascinated. And Ben had found it incredibly difficult to deny him when he asked so baldly for a little extra guidance in his practice run. Worse, thrill was the least of what Ben worried about accidentally oversharing.

Ben peeled a soft leather glove off of his hand, before he raised it. “Fine,” he said. Poe gave him a wicked grin, as he dipped his head down to meet Ben’s hand. With his visor still up, Ben felt for Poe’s temple, accidentally brushing his thumb over the other boy’s mouth. He tried not to shiver, and instead breathed in like he had done earlier that day.

He just had to focus, to glean the very top of the other boy’s mind. To ignore the warm, honey feeling that slid over his senses that marked the edge of Poe’s mind whenever he was ready to pilot. Poe raised a brow, and this time, said nothing with his relentless mouth.

_You feel like one of those Jedi crystals, you know._

    _I— thank you?_

Ben stepped back from the _Shrike_ , and watched as Poe leaned over to flick on a few more buttons as the craft began to hover. The speeder’s body curled on itself, with organic lines that flowed like the vines of the jungle waiting outside. It hummed, and light caught the sides of it, throwing off sunlight against Poe’s cheek. Ben replaced his glove, and watched. 

_It’s a compliment. You’re like a little warm spot of energy in my head._

As if to emphasize the point, Ben saw the image of a glowing saber in his mind’s eye for a brief moment, before it faded quickly.

It was...nice. 

 _If you just make the track like usual, I can keep up with you,_ Ben thought, as the engine began to throw off heat. _I don’t know how far I can go beyond that._

The nacelle slid over the top of the cockpit, and without much warning, Ben felt the sudden surge of the _Shrike_ before he saw it. The force of the engine sent dust flying in the hangar, and billowed his training uniform. Never one to fly low, Poe had already begun to ascend, tugging at Ben’s sense of gravity.  
  
His head began to swim.

“Dizzy?” Poe asked loudly, and Ben could feel the rough rub of Poe’s harness against his own chest as Poe leaned forwards in his craft.

Ben breathed in deeply, steadying himself against another speeder’s outer shell.

 _You don’t have to yell,_ he reminded the other boy. It was difficult to maintain a connection like this, but Poe was practically a beacon in flight. He vibrated inside of Ben’s mind, and when Ben closed his eyes, Poe’s own line of sight began to materialize in a blur. With a smooth gesture, Dameron dipped the repulsorcraft’s wings in order to make a sharp turn, avoiding a canopy of trees.

The move sent a sharp tug through Ben, and he felt his stomach drop. Then, a pricking at his bottom lip. Poe was biting his own lip, and biting it hard enough that even Ben could feel it while still on the ground. He suspected Dameron didn’t even notice what he was doing. Ben hoped Tamora was still uninterested in waiting around to see how the test run went. He could sense her working under the body of a different repulsorcraft, but didn’t dare open his eyes to catch if she was watching him.

 _I know,_ Poe responded over their telepathic link. _But it feels better to say something._

Just like it apparently felt better for Poe to start breathlessly singing to himself in the cockpit, providing his own bass line in between notes. The rhythm picked up, and Ben tried to fight off a small smile as he felt Poe’s voice in his ear. Dameron was always pushing the limits.

Then, something jolted Ben, and he trembled as he felt the nose of Poe’s speeder dip down. Poe laughed at the sensation of shock spreading over him, and corrected his angle.

 _Testing the maneuverability_ , he explained.

 _Testing my patience, more like,_ Ben shot back, mentally regaining his balance. It was like this every time — Poe would do something without warning, and Ben would be the one reeling. But it was hard to deny the rush, the way adrenaline surged through Poe and spiked at Ben’s senses. And each time Ben had followed on a flight, it had gotten easier, more exhilarating. And each time, Dameron would get more…showy.

 _Keep your hands on the controls,_ Ben warned, with an added huff. It wasn’t that Poe had strayed any, it was just that Ben could feel the itching in his fingers, the slight lean he made when he reached for something else, something —

 _Well it’s not like you can handle the shaft for me, up here,_ Poe echoed back, playfully pushing forwards on the acceleration. Ben felt the intense pull of force snaring on his connection for a minute, heart beating harder as he struggled to maintain the link.

_Handle the—_

He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to ask. Dameron’s answer would only make him more off balance.

 _Get a_ grip _, Flyboy,_ he managed, as more warm laughter echoed in his ear. Ben shivered, biting back a gasp that let him know Poe had begun to sharply tilt his speeder, and then —

Unable to remain steady on his legs, even balanced against the other speeder in the hangar, Ben down slid against the metal body as his knees gave out under him. It took him a moment before his mind registered the sensation his body had already processed, the intoxicating feeling of being upside-down as Poe barrel rolled. Ben swallowed tightly as he gripped hard at the speeder he had sunk down next to, too lost in the sensation that coiled in his stomach to bother to chide Poe for making the world turn inside out.

It began to right again for a brief moment, before Poe shouted out a warning, yanking them both into a second spin. The sheer power of the roll overrode his senses, and blood pounded in his ears. Pressure built in his lungs, and for a moment Ben thought he might choke — from gravity or from the way Poe’s mind was overwhelming his own — before he gasped, shaking on his knees. Poe’s rush was inescapable, and it set his teeth on edge to be overloaded by it. It managed to be both too much and somehow still not enough, leaving Ben clinging to the link, desperate for — something. The tension pulled itself unbearably taut as he struggled to breathe against the pressure, before it finally, mercifully, broke. The world rolled back upright in a fierce wave, and his senses flooded back to him.

 _Upright_. They were upright.

Ben coughed, hard, desperate not to wheeze in case Tamora had thought to look over at his newfound inability to remain standing. He steadied himself against the nearby speeder before his focus on Poe - and the _Shrike_ \- returned. But where Ben expected to find the presence of another mind, his conscious stumbled. There was nothing but the Force.

Oh —   _“Bantha shit.”_ Ben hissed loudly enough for Tamora to tap a wrench on the floor of the hangar in response.

“Did he crash?” she asked, scooting out from under one of the repulsorcrafts just enough to see glimpse Ben's feet.

“I don’t _know,”_ Ben replied, feeling more agitated than he cared to admit. What if that blasted faffleswarm-brained idiot had crashed? Or, what if _he’d_ been the one to lose control and _caused_ something?

“You don’t know?” Tamora said doubtfully, reaching for another tool in her kit.

“Something -- it -- _I felt the_ _Force_ ,” Ben replied hotly, marching to the hangar’s entrance. “Wait here,” he added, knowing full well Tamora had no intention of dropping her work on a hunch.

“Does the Force even work that way?” she called after his retreating form.

 

 

**_______________**

 

They’d done this before without much incident, Ben thought, but that didn’t bring him much comfort. Picking a single soul out of the seething ocean of energy that was the Force was tricky at best. At worst it was a pounding headache that was more annoying than it was helpful. He’d known other students at the Praxeum to try it, only to dry heave from the pressure of the migraine it caused.

Ben scanned the skies, marching out into the clearing that lead up to the small hangar. If he was honest with himself, Ben knew that clinging to someone else’s mind was dangerous. But it was easy, it felt so…right. Ben quietly excelled where other students struggled with more basic mastery of Sense abilities. And _telepathy_ , he knew, even only with Poe, was far more than most human force-wielders could manage. It was why he was loathe to admit to it.

He was probably some sort of _freak_.

Ben closed his eyes — and threw out his consciousness, probing the moon’s atmosphere. It unsettled him to feel so much, but if Poe had crashed because of his recklessness…

Somewhere in the jungles, Ben could feel a nebula orchid bloom, its petals stretching out towards the sunlight. The distant chatter of piranha beetles rose and fell, and the rustle of a pack of woolamanders seemed to brush against his senses. He reached further, the fingertips of his mind scaling the heights of a nearby tree — and hesitated, suddenly overwhelmed by a twisted mire of despair that seemed knotted there. Bitterness welled in his throat, and Ben released his grip.

The tree was — dead? _Rotting_. He couldn’t be sure, but it made him shiver, before he pulled his robes tighter around him.

Ben felt the _Shrike_ interrupt his thoughts before he heard it, a grounding hum that signaled its descent coming towards the hangar. And then, the tree was all but forgotten to his annoyance as Poe’s speeder crested over the trees and dived perilously close to him on the landing strip.

Dust rose off the strip, and Ben fought back a sudden wave of relief as Poe lifted the hatch and stretched out.

 _“Damnit,_ Dameron,” Ben said, as he came within punching distance. Poe winced as Ben’s fist made contact with his shoulder. “You need to warn me—,”

“Ow. I _did_ warn you, and it was amazing—,” Poe said, raising his hands up in front of him. “So why’d you drop out?”

“I didn’t drop anything—,” Ben huffed. “You got showy, and forgot that I end up,” he dropped his voice down to a snarled whisper, “-I feel what you do, _except that I’m_ _not strapped in to anything_.”

“So?” Dameron asked, rubbing his shoulder. “That was the point, Benji!” He leaned forwards, temporary pain in his arm forgotten as he removed his flight helmet and dragged his fingers through his hair. Setting the helmet on top of the _Shrike_ , he made an easy gesture towards the speeder.

Ben struggled to frown. “Which is fine when you don’t barrel roll, but being upside-down is-is - it’s _dangerous_ is what it is! What if I’d held on to the link and you’d crashed?” He demanded, face hot.

Poe blinked slowly. Realization crossed his Corellian brandy eyes, and he leaned back on the body of the speeder, crossing his arms over his chest. Ben took a step back, annoyed as Poe bit his bottom lip and regarded him.

“Oh.” he exclaimed with a note of understanding. “Benji,” he coaxed, his lips curving into a smile.

“No.” Ben said flatly.

 _“Benji,”_ Dameron pressed, leaning forwards to smile widely enough that Ben was tempted to punch him a second time. Instead, he furrowed his brow.

Poe looked up at him. “It’d take a bit more than the Force tripping us up to knock me out of the skies,” he said soothingly.

“You don’t know that,” Ben replied tartly, drawing his chin to his chest.

“I do,” Poe insisted, back now arched off of the _Shrike_ completely. “Benji,” he said softly. “I can handle myself. And I’m fine.” He placed his palms on Ben’s shoulders, not wavering when Ben half-heartedly shrugged.

“ _Kriff_ , you’re impossible,” Poe huffed, his sigh tickling Ben’s cheek. It was then that Ben gave him a hard look, taking in the way his wavy brown hair gleamed in the mid-morning sun, and the breathlessness that still injected itself into his voice. Poe Dameron had very little shame, and even less _sense_ , Ben thought.

It was probably why Poe reached for his hand, pointedly tugging off Ben’s glove. The cool air ran over his palm as Poe turned it over in his own gloved hands, before he pressed Ben’s hand to his cheek and temple.

“Ben, I’m _fine_ ,” he started, before his consciousness bumped against Ben’s. Warmth and reassurance spilled over his fingertips and slipped into his blood.

“—I know.” Ben said, aftershocks of the flight shivering across his skin as Poe filled in details he’d missed with the immediacy of his presence. The moment hung in the air, Ben finding himself alternating between thinking: _safe, idiot,_ and _exhilarating_. He stopped only when he felt Poe’s laughter in his mind, and opened his eyes again. Without realizing, he’d moved forwards, cornering Poe against his speeder.

Ben drew back, pulling away his hand. “Don’t try to distract me,” he said, as Poe reached for the Padawan braid that was partially obscured by Ben’s long hair.

“Stop being so fun to distract,” Poe retorted tugging the braid as Ben moved to snatch back his glove. Ben elbowed him in return, pocketing his glove. Within moments, they’d devolved into a shoving match, Poe’s fingers tangled in his hair and Ben’s foot pressing into the inside of Poe’s heel. Twisting his leg, Ben added pressure to Poe’s knee, forcing Dameron to grip at his sides for balance. They nearly stumbled, both scuffling against the _Shrike_ until a voice rang out from the hangar.

“So—,” Tamora called, “Is he dead?”

When Ben registered her voice he fell back, scrambling as Poe released his braid. Tamora’s footsteps fell softly against the paved ground, and Ben struggled to straighten his clothes.

“Because if he is, I’m going to salvage his speeder for parts,” she added, as she stepped out from the shadows of the garage. Tamora stopped, and then looked between them both with a discerning eye, setting her hands on her hips.

“Oh,” she sucked in a breath with a hint of teasing disappointment. “You’re back.”

Poe waved sheepishly as Ben glared back at the interruption.  He then looked back at Poe, finding to his dismay that the older boy looked _guilty_ of something. Worse, Poe looked flushed and disheveled, and his eyes were still gleaming with mischief. It was  _appalling_. 

“Dunno what you were worried about, Ben, he looks fine,” Tamora said.

“That’s debatable,” Ben said ruefully, making a sweeping gesture with his bare hand. The piloting helmet that had been set down on the _Shrike_ floated upwards at his beckoning, before it teetered above Poe’s head. Tamora made as if to cringe, or warn Poe, but Ben dropped his hand. The helmet landed backwards over Poe’s head with a satisfying thunk that put a merciful end to the older boy’s entirely too-pleased-with-himself looks. Poe gave a muffled yelp, and Ben turned, giving Tamora a curt bow.

“I’ll be back after lunch to help during the _actual_ race,” Ben said politely, willing himself to not look back over his shoulder as he strode away. He didn’t have the time for another distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not too familiar with the Extended Universe (which is no longer canon). That said, I'm using this story to be a bit of an EU magpie -- taking whatever seems shiniest. The title, Shatterpoint, is one of these things. It's the title of an EU novel about Mace Windu (which I haven't read). I also borrowed the word "Je'daii" - they're simply an ancient precursor to the Jedi Order itself. And Winter is also one of the characters I've lifted from the EU, where she is Leia's attendant.


	2. Emotion, yet Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, [Ezra Miller as young Ben Solo](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/33600000/Ezra-ezra-miller-33672895-414-532.png), am I right guys?

 

> _There is no emotion, there is only peace._

* * *

 

**II.**

Meals at the Temple had significantly improved once Luke had stopped being the one in charge of making them. There was much to admire about his uncle, but Ben didn’t believe his culinary abilities were very high on the list. So the students had taken over, splitting the duties as best they could. It had marginally improved things - the food had become less military, more edible. The dining hall, however, hadn’t changed much since the days of the Rebel base, making the whole room feel cavernous in comparison to the small collection of students which gathered in it.

It made the presence of a few extra faces all the more obvious.

At the far end of the room, one of the older students sat with a few visitors. Seated between two older members of the Church of the Force, padawan Tionne drew warmth into the room. Ben knew she was striking - Ros had seemed to have developed a slight infatuation with the older trainee - but felt her presence in the Force was far more interesting. Tionne had hair like rivulets of leaking mercury and spectral-white eyes, but in the Force she presented more like the beginning stirrings of a ballad. She wasn’t very powerful, but what Tionne lacked in ability, she’d made up for with a tireless thirst for Jedi knowledge and history. Ben could only guess that her companions had arrived at the Temple with information, and so instead of eating in companionable silence, he made his way towards Tionne’s table.

Upon closer inspection, Ben recognized Lor San Tekka, a tall, older man who bore the disposition of a scholar, coupled with an all-too-familiar sense of adventure. It reminded him of his father, although perhaps with slightly more sense. More sense of his own mortality. Ben bowed politely before he sat down, eying the third person at the table.

“Lord Lor San Tekka, Tionne,” he greeted simply, placing his tray on the table.

Tionne’s aura shifted, and Ben sensed the sweeping cantation of a melody. He usually avoided trying to pick at other student’s thoughts, but Tionne was a performer at heart, and her emotions tended to float easily to the surface.

“Ben,” she replied, smiling at him. “This is Hazaan,” Tionne gestured to the other middle-aged man fluidly, conducting her next verse. “He has joined Lor San Tekka in searching for artifacts. They’ve brought us a few things rescued from Imperial archives.”

“Really?” he said quietly, raising a brow. “That’s wonderful. I’ve been hoping to go on a few searches myself, there’s so many things missing…” So many things destroyed, confiscated, _hidden_ … Ben’s heart ached when he thought of how many things he wouldn’t master simply because the knowledge might have been lost forever.

“Well, we only found a small group of Jedi materials - something closer to a personal collection of an Imperial commander than a mass confiscation vault,” Hazaan explained, leaning forwards on his elbows as he spoke. His cropped, shiny black hair fell over his eyes slightly, and Ben was careful to note that unlike Lor San Tekka or Tionne, the man’s presence felt slightly more sharp. Something about him felt coiled and restrained, much like the bodyguards of diplomats on Hosnian Prime. Given the rough scars on his hands, it seemed fair to assume that Hazaan had made himself available as the muscle of Lor San Tekka’s operations.

It was probably for the best. Ben couldn’t imagine the older man being a terribly good shot, and there were plenty of old Empire loyalists who held out on the fringes of the galaxy.

“It’s wonderful,” Tionne interrupted, her voice ringing over Hazaan’s. “They’ve brought back two Jedi holocrons, one seems to be mostly historical records, the annals of the order, really,” she said excitedly.

“A very lucky find,” Lor San Tekka conceded, smiling benevolently. “One which will no doubt cast much light on the ways of the Jedi for you all.”

“And the other holocron?” Ben asked, beginning to poke at his meal. “Is it more of the same?”

“No,” Hazaan replied. “It seems to be a training program for the saber forms. No replacement for a master instructor, of course, but it seems to show how to practice the movements.”

Ben swallowed his soup, and considered what that possibility meant. “Still, a significant improvement from educated guesswork.” His Uncle had trained, certainly, but it had been…rushed. It was hard to fault Luke for this, but easier to feel that his Uncle didn’t truly want to remedy the lack of saber practice. No matter that the lightsaber was the weapon of a Jedi, a hallmark of ability and pride, Luke Skywalker seemed to believe it was best to never need to actually use one. Violence could lead to the dark side, the weapon was a crutch for when you lacked more diplomatic solutions… he’d heard every reason before.

That didn’t change the fact that the Jedi used them.

Or that using them could be incredibly ... _useful_.

“It sounds like an excellent find,” Ben said finally. Tionne, no doubt, would spend weeks pouring over the first holocron, composing ballads and epics. Maybe even slipping long dead heroes into casual conversations, when she remembered that not everyone had time to listen to a three part overture.

“It is not all we found,” Hazaan looked over at Ben, dark eyes suddenly fixating on him. The air between them shifted, and Ben felt the sharp edge of promise in Hazaan’s voice. “Master Skywalker is inspecting them, but there were three lightsaber hilts. Presumably still functioning.”

“Displayed horrifically,” Lor San Tekka added quietly. “They were…difficult to retrieve.”

The words sent a shiver down Ben’s spine. Whether Lor San Tekka had realized it or not, he had projected the memory of seeing these sabers so vividly that it turned Ben’s stomach. It wasn’t simply a matter of display — a grisly image swam before him. An acrid tang in the room swelled, and Ben saw them, two disembodied hands still gripping their lightsaber’s hilts tightly, bone and sinew preserved underneath the gloves that still encased flesh. They’d been hunting trophies. Put on macabre display to boast about how many Jedi had been slaughtered —

Ben gripped tightly at the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. He stared ahead at the flat top of the table, ignoring the now nauseating scent of his lunch as he struggled to breathe. Without looking, he felt Tionne’s gaze upon him.

“Ben?”

“I can imagine,” he said belatedly. “The- the sabers are with Master Skywalker now?”

“They are,” Lor San Tekka said, quietly watching as Ben reached for his glass of water and willed his hand to stop shaking. “We delivered them to him as soon as we arrived.”

Water tasted like sand as it slid down his throat. Schooling his expression, Ben stood up. “Apologies,” he said. “I look forwards to hearing more about the holocrons, but I have to…meditate.”

He left without another word.

**_______________**

The halls of the temple were mercifully empty. Ben’s footsteps echoed loudly against the heavy stone, his padawan robes rustling as he moved. Once he’d left behind the dining hall, his breathing eased. Ben moved faster than his mind could work out where he was heading, the lingering tendrils of his vision clawing at the back of his mind.

When he stopped, he found himself standing before a small practice room. Ben stretched out an unsteady hand, grasping weakly at the force to open the door. Behind it, his Uncle was running through practice forms.

Luke pivoted, thrusting his saber forwards in a fluid lunge.

“Ben,” he acknowledged, turning to meet his student’s gaze. “Lor San Tekka has found—,” Luke dropped his guard position, smiling at his nephew. “You already know.” He concluded. Luke inclined his head, gesturing subtly to the additional three lightsabers laid out on a bench.

“He and Tionne were taking lunch,” Ben said simply. The sabers called to him, and he took an uneasy step forwards. Seeing them side-by-side, he wondered how long it had taken each owner to create them. How long their owners had been dead.

He bit his lip.

“The lightsabers — is there a way to learn who they belonged to?” To know what sort of people had wielded them, what they had been like. Anything to overpower the overwhelming sensations of death that lingered over the smooth metal casings.

“It’s possible the holocrons might tell us something,” Luke answered. “And every lightsaber is crafted individually. Narrowing it down shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Ben kneeled, dropping quietly to examine his reflection in the polished hilts. The hilt to the left was plated with a dark bronze, on the right a dulled silver. But it was the middle that shone under the lights - a meteorite platinum that shone so brightly Ben felt it sear through his pale skin. In the surface, Ben could see his own dark eyes pool across the curves of the handle, chapped and cherry lips bright against white metal.

The visage rippled, and Ben’s eyes lightened, melting into soft ice, hair more strawberry than ink. Ben blinked, and found that he was meeting his Uncle’s curious gaze. The reflection was gone.

“Master Luke,” Ben said, faintly aware of how far-away his own voice sounded. “What happens now that we have them?”

Luke deactivated his lightsaber, before kneeling across from his nephew. “Finding them is a great benefit to us — now more than ever, the New Republic needs the Jedi.”

“You mean we might finally begin to train.” Ben surmised, suddenly uncertain if he was as eager as he had been. “Is it right to use another Jedi’s blade? They’re…they feel powerful.”

“It’s not always preferable, but they can be studied, at least.” Luke reached for the bronze and black hilt, setting his own lightsaber down. “Connecting to the past will guide us forwards.”

They both fell silent then, Luke grasping the older lightsaber in his hands, carefully hefting it. Ben’s stomach turned, and his vision blurred, a shadowy imprint of a Togruta woman slipping over his uncle. As soon as Ben made out her features, the face was gone.

“Or the past will imprison us there,” Ben said softly. “These were used in the Clone Wars, weren’t they?” Perhaps that explained their uneasy aura, the sharpness which radiated off of them. A sharp pricking sensation pierced Ben’s palm as his hand hovered over the middle blade’s hilt. “When Lor San Tekka mentioned them, I felt — I _sensed_ they were important.”

The rounded base of the lightsaber trembled, rolling slightly under Ben’s open hand before it began to float effortlessly in the air.

“It’s very probable,” Luke answered, watching his student carefully. “But perhaps you should reflect at length before practicing with one of these. Consider that they may have only ever been used for protection during a war.”

Ben’s fingers grasped at chilled metal, the hilt of the blade feeling perfectly in balance with his hand. He frowned.

“Isn’t that all the more reason to study? If the New Republic needs us, then we should be prepared to learn who crafted these blades, why they used them—,” Perhaps then, their energies could be put to rest, subsumed into the greater currents of the Force. Ben’s breathing hitched as he titled his hand, feeling the weight of the handle shift. Memories pulled at his consciousness, but Ben eluded them, focusing instead on the physicality of the work of art in his hands.

And then there was the most pressing question, one that surely had to haunt his Uncle as much as it did him. “These people were masters - powerful Jedi with powerful resources — and they still fell. Shouldn’t we learn _why?_ Train as much as we are able so that this can never happen again?”

To think such an elegant weapon could still fall in battle. It was more than mere mortality that concerned Ben, but the strength of something _other_ that worried him. In a way, it was easy to understand how the Empire had rose — but Ben had to admit he was not entirely sure how the Jedi order had _fell_.

“Your question belies your answer, Ben,” Luke said, setting the bronze hilt down before he stood up again, face suddenly somber. “Even a weapons master can be defeated. Combat training cannot prevent the Dark side, nor is it the only thing that will keep you alive. The solution for the future of the Jedi is not in warfare.”

Ben released his grip. “If the Jedi had been better prepared for it, maybe they would have brought the Clone Wars to an end all the more quickly. Preparation for war doesn’t threaten peace —,” A fact he had intimately learned due to his mother’s role in the New Republic’s military. His uncle couldn’t seriously insinuate that training itself was a threat, could he? You could hope for peace, but inevitably, you had to prepare for war. If the Jedi council of old had understood this, then maybe…

 _Maybe they would have_ survived _._

“It maintains peace, safeguards the people…” Ben stopped, looking at Luke’s unchanging expression.

His uncle shook his head. “We cannot let an emotional response like fear dictate the New Jedi Order. There is no emotion, there is _peace_. That is the Jedi code.”

“But the New Republic believes they need the Jedi because they are afraid — why pretend otherwise?” Ben protested. rising to his feet quickly. “I don’t understand. These Jedi waited until they had no other options but to react according to someone else’s emotions—,”

“—No,” Luke said, holding up his hand. “They waited to ensure all other options had been exhausted. Immediate action is an emotional response to someone else’s provocations. The New Republic — your mother — needs us, but not as soldiers,” Luke warned, calling his own lightsaber to his hand.

“She has those. A Jedi Knight is not merely a soldier, they are guardians, sentinels, consulars… We act with the guidance of the Force, not the minds and wills of a loud minority.” He sighed, attaching his hilt to his belt. Ben felt his neck prickle. His face was flush with the discomfort of the look his uncle gave him, tinged with what Ben assumed was disappointment. “Even if,” Luke mused, “—that loud voice is your mother.”

“Master,” Ben said, bowing his head. “I didn’t mean… I only want to learn.”

“I know, Ben,” Luke nodded. “I want to believe that Lor San Tekka finding these lightsabers means you are ready to begin training. But I must always remind you -  _and_ the others - a Jedi fights as a last resort. I’d imagine that’s why Leia refused to train as a Jedi,” He said, a slow smile creeping over his still boyish features.

Ben managed a small smile in return. “She says she already tests her patience enough with me, father, and the diplomats.”

At this, Luke tipped his head back and laughed, blue eyes sparkling. “Fair enough. Leave the military concerns to your mother. One more Jedi knight is more than enough of an equal trade to having another General.”

**_______________**

Leaving the training quarters left Ben with a nagging, sickly feeling of anxiousness. He could have asked Luke if the master had felt the discomforting aura surrounding two of the three lightsabers. Surely Luke would have understood his questions better if Ben had revealed their impetus. But deep down, Ben couldn’t imagine sounding sane when describing his utter certainty that he could still _sense_ the very hands that had died clutching those weapons.

The Force was many things, but its presence wasn’t always a comfort.

If he had been closer to any of his fellow padawans, Ben might have considered mentioning his feelings to them. Tionne was likely to know something more about the history of the Clone Wars, Ros was familiar with stories about how the Force adept - like Ros’ mother - were hunted by the Empire… and there were others who might have had advice, or legends to draw from.

But that would have meant letting  the others in on how frequently Ben felt things that he knew weren’t there.

It also might have meant running late to the speeder race he’d promised Poe he’d be at. And when weighing the options of being conspicuously absent from the race, or emotionally aloof with his classmates, Ben knew the latter option was preferable. Poe would notice if he wasn’t at the race. His classmates, however, would chalk it up to dedication and determination if he didn’t spill his every personal thought about the Force.

So rather than dwell on the uneasy knot in his stomach, Ben approached the race line where the _Shrike_ was primed for flight. Poe and Tamora were bent over the engines, inspecting them carefully, while Ben rounded the back of the racer, hands gliding over the metal body. It would have been cheating to use the Force to ensure Poe won…but using it to detect flaws was not.

He wouldn’t forgive himself if he missed anything.

   
“ _Terra firma_ to Benji,” Poe said, interrupting his examinations. “Tamora says it all checks out.”

“Well unless something happened between this morning and now…” Ben replied, giving his friend a look. Tamara stood up, flashing him the pad screen that displayed the _Shrike’s_ readouts. Ben reached for the pad, gaze flicking over the numbers and charts quickly.

“Of course not,” Poe said, in a manner that Ben could only term as suspicious. He didn’t dare ask if Poe had gone back to pushing the limits in air. It was probably better if he didn’t know.

“It’s running beautifully,” Tamora chimed in, “So if he crashes, we can just patch up the speeder and get a new pilot.”

“Very funny,” Poe retorted, snatching his helmet off the ground. “I am not going to crash.”

“I don’t know,” Ben mused. “If that happens, maybe we should just switch to an astromech. Save us the trouble.”

“And,” Tamora said with a conspiratorial smile, “Think of how much easier upgrades would be. No talking back…”

“Always taking directions—,” Ben added, fending off a smile as Poe prickled at that.

“ _Hey—_ ,”

“And best of all,” Tamora finished, rapping the Shrike’s exterior with her knuckles, “Droids come with mechanical overrides.”

“Hmm,” Ben agreed, casually examining Poe’s change in stance as the older boy frowned comically. The pout of his lower lip was mesmerizing, but before Ben could voice a reason to perhaps keep Poe as he was, the horns that announced the set-up for the local race blared.

“That’s our cue,” Tamora said, shrugging her shoulders. “I guess we’ll put up with you this race,” she teased, bumping shoulders with Poe before walking past. Holding tightly to the readouts pad, Ben hesitated for a moment, before he smiled at Poe.

“You’d better win,” Ben warned, hoping Poe translated it as the _‘good luck’_ he really meant.

“And if I lose?” Poe dared, stepping into Ben’s personal space. His mouth twitched, and Ben swallowed. The next count-off alarm sounded, and Ben took a step back, grateful for the excuse to slip away. Poe spun on his heel, lingering before he broke his gaze with Ben.

 _“Don’t,”_ Ben answered, tucking the video pad under his arm. The roar of engines revving picked up, and Ben slipped away, following Tamora’s path towards the constructed viewing balconies. Though he didn’t attempt to brush against Dameron’s consciousness, Ben could feel the rising energy of the pilots swelling in excitement.

When he approached Tamora’s side, Ben offered up the video pad, swiping to the race-screen. Numbers flashed across the pad, and Ben scanned the line-up, watching Poe climb into the _Shrike_ as other racers readied themselves. From the vantage point, he was able to see the other racing speeders — the _Illusyan_ , the _Kaetel_ , the _Starseed_ , the _Gallia_ , and a few other ships Ben couldn’t name. Beside Tamora, he spotted Ros, leaning casually over the barrister.

“Tell me you two, if I bet on Dameron, am I going to get my credit’s worth?” Ros asked slyly, flicking over the vid-screen in his own hands. His silken robes crumpled against the railing, and Ros gave a bored look at the track before he raised a brow.

Tamora scoffed. “My job is done. That machine is the best speeder on this moon. It’s up to Poe to win.”

“Ben?” Ros prompted, gesturing to the countdown as the speeders lined up at the track.

“He’ll win,” Ben said with conviction. “We did a trial run this morning.” True, Poe had gotten…distracted from just running the gauntlet, but Ben had _felt_ more than he’d _seen_ Poe’s technique, and knew that he’d taken to the updated repulsorcraft incredibly well.

Seeing Poe in action, however, was a different story entirely.

There was chatter in the crowd about the different racers, but Ben fixated solely on his screen, tuning them out the moment the final gong sounded out over the track. Though he didn’t feel the same pull as before, his stomach still turned as he watched. The adrenaline he had now was purely anticipation, excitement — and a desperate need to have Dameron win. Ben found himself nudging the mechanic beside him as the _Shrike_ peeled off, gunning for first place within seconds.

In the din, Ben heard an announcer declaring the speeders at the head of the initial breakaway — but the rest of the commentary seemed less important than monitoring his screen.

Tamora watched, ignoring Ros beside her as she tracked Ben’s vidscreen. “Is that Davik Al-ket racing in the _Gallia?”_

“It is,” Ros said, toggling for a closeup on the speeder. “He’s my choice for second. I hear he’s been training to beat Dameron.”

“That so?” Ben said mildly, watching as the onscreen image of Poe inside the _Shrike_ revealed a slight shift that Ben recognized as preparation for an acceleration and ascension. Watching Poe in his element was just as compelling as experiencing it with him. Ben wondered briefly if he closed his eyes and tried to focus, would he feel Poe within the force —

“Hard to tell if it’s an obsession with winning, or a crush, honestly,” Ros said with a shrug. He swept a gloved hand over his screen to pull up the holo projection of the racers on the track. Ben’s eyes flitted from his screen to the holo, and back again, pushing back the sudden annoyance that rose in his throat.

“You can’t seriously think Davik could do it?” He challenged, setting his jaw.

Tamora rolled her eyes. “He could, but he’s not like Dameron. Davik tries too hard — Poe goes out there and practically makes love to the speeder to get it to move like that.” She paused, the words sinking in before she crinkled her nose. “You’ve heard him talk about his ships. It’s _obscene_.”

At this Ros coughed, choking back a laugh, and Ben ducked his head down, avoiding eye contact with either of them. His ears already felt hot, and if he blushed, they were bound to notice. Hunching over his vidscreen was the safest option.

“If that’s true,” Ros said, still laughing, “Then it looks like he’s primed to give us a spectacular finish.”

Tamora hummed in agreement, “He’s showy.” she said, before gasping as she saw the holo of the _Shrike_ suddenly barrel roll, hovering directly above Davik’s speeder in second place. “—and _insane_ , Ben—!”

“He did that this morning,” Ben explained quickly, at once annoyed and strangely proud that Poe was maintaining a lead even upside-down. “The _Shrike_ can handle it.”

And it was handling it, although Ben watched in dismay as a third speeder gained on them, threatening to bump Poe. The _Starseed_ collided with Davik’s speeder and Ben tensed as the scratching of metal resounded over the vidscreens. Poe righted the _Shrike_ , and then, as if to prove he’d merely been toying with his competitors, jammed his thrusters and swooped past in a blur. The thrumming in Ben’s ears grew louder, and he dimly it was his own heart was racing as the speeders made their way to the second round of the track.

“He’s going to overextend the engines if he keeps doing that,” Tamora complained, frowning as Ros swapped screens to raise his bet.

“He won’t,” it was possible, of course, but Ben knew that Poe would stop before it affected his flight capabilities. He’d practically promised, and Ben had to trust that Poe wouldn’t do anything stupid. Or stupider than usual, anyways. “He told me he can handle it. The test run this morning was much more — it was more aerial dives and loops. We were testing agility, stability, the whole spread.”

And Poe, Poe had told him not to worry. Poe _usually_ told him not to worry about how he handled himself in the air, and deep down, Ben knew this was hardly a difficult flight. But wanting to see Poe land safely was just as much a draw as wanting to watch the way Poe moved with ease in flight. He couldn’t enjoy one without the promise of the other.

Further back in the race, another pair of speeders jammed against each other, and Ben cringed as the smaller of the two repulsorcrafts spun out of control and crashed hard against a cliff wall. Gasps filled the crowd as the speeder’s collision system buffered the worst of the damage, and the pilot struggled to roll away safely.

Back on the main course, the third and final round’s buzzer sounded and Ben bit his bottom lip, in the same place Poe seemed to gnaw on his own. Whether he could feel it directly or not, Ben leaned forwards, imagining the sharp, insatiable hunger Poe usually felt when flying. Whether it was a yearning for speed or thrill, Ben could never entirely decide, but it was intoxicating, and almost as addicting to simply watch.

It was a rush.

The closer the racers got to the finish line, the louder the announcer shouted from the stands, and the more deafening the roar in Ben’s ears grew. He didn’t wait for the first speeder to completely cross the finish line before he thrust the vidscreen at Tamora, racing down the steps of the stands to beeline towards the track. He’d win. Ben knew it even before it was true.

Another roar from the crowd rose up, and Ben sensed a warm flood of victory crash over him before the _Shrike_ even slowed to a full stop. Poe hadn’t even taken his helmet off before Ben reached him at the sidelines, both of them grinning breathlessly.

“So maybe you have a little talent,” Ben greeted, the corners of his mouth threatening a smile. Without ceremony, Poe dumped his helmet to the ground, face flush and hair spilling out over his eyes. He panted, chest rising and falling heavily as sweat matted his jumpsuit to his frame.

“Shut up,” Poe said, pushing Ben onwards as he strode past him with a distinct strut in his step. For a moment, Ben briefly wondered if the other boy was even able to walk normally, or if that sway was always there —

— But when he realized he was staring, he quickly followed, confusion writing itself across his face. Even for a victory, Poe would normally wait for the awards to be handed out to everyone before leaving the track. He was a cocky winner, but not a poor sport.

“Walk faster,” Poe insisted, as he began to unzip the top of his jumpsuit, peeling off the outer layer to reveal a thin white shirt that had moulded itself to his body underneath.

“Where are you going?” Ben asked, meeting the shorter boy’s pace with ease as he began to take longer strides. “You just won you _addlebrained_ —,” He broke off as Poe moved towards the jungle’s edge, forcing him to nimbly step over a large tree root to avoid tripping. A sweet floral scent rose through the forest, and Ben ducked to avoid branches as Poe rounded an impossibly large Massassi tree.

Seemingly pleased Ben had followed, Poe stopped short, palm pressed against the bark of the tree to steady himself for a moment.

“What in Yavin’s name are you doing?” Ben demanded, the announcer’s voice still carrying over the trees as yet another speeder crossed the finish line.

“Getting us out of play-by-play view on vidscreens,” Poe said, before he pushed himself back upright. “Alone.” He emphasized.

“I’m aware we’re alone,” that much was _obvious_ , Ben thought, “But _why?_ — Are you feeling alright? You look—,” Ben began, before he fell short. Poe looked… Poe looked suddenly dangerous. His warm, sleepy gaze shone with something Ben couldn’t name, and Poe moved with a fluidity that had Ben taking a step backwards, his back against the Massassi tree. Poe looked like a ravenous loth-cat.

…Nearly purred like one, too.

“Did you hit your head?” Ben tried again, as Poe closed the gap between them, his flight suit rumpled at his waist.

“Benji,” Poe said lightly.

“Because if you have a concussion, we should treat it immediately—,” Ben continued, leaning down just enough to find himself looking to see if Poe’s pupils had blown out, or if he looked dazed. They did seem deeper than usual, a hot chocolate which simmered around darker than black pupils.

“—Ben,” Poe repeated, this time more loudly, cutting off his train of thought. Startled, Ben fell silent. “ _Kriffing_ _hell_ ,” Poe said in amusement. “I thought you could read minds. Or had clued in by now.”

“Not all the time, or at-will, or without actively trying to—,” Ben began to protest, before Poe placed a warm palm against his neck, his thumb brushing Ben’s jaw. Poe nimbly threaded his fingers around Ben’s padawan braid, hidden under a stray wave of dark brown hair.

“What about seeing the future?” Poe pressed, tugging Ben’s braid lightly. Standing as close as he was, Ben watched in fascination as Poe’s mouth curved into a smile, eyes hooded as he gave Ben a pleased look.

“I-,” Ben said thickly, before he took in an uncertain breath. “Seeing the future is - is - it’s _abstruse_ —,” he managed, Poe’s huff of exasperation tickling his cheek. Poe rolled his eyes, and rocked to his toes, nearly nose to nose with Ben.

“ _You’re_ abstruse,” he murmured, brushing back Ben’s bangs as they fell into his eyes.

“That _doesn’t_ —,” Ben tried, the rest of his half-formed rejoinder lost as Poe kissed him fiercely. Sense. _It didn’t make sense_ , his mind whispered, before Ben silently reminded himself to kindly shut up and kiss back. Dimly aware that he was now cornered against the tree’s purple trunk, Ben brought his hands up uncertainly reaching out for Poe’s waist. When he found purchase, Poe wrapped his other hand around his neck, lips hot against his mouth. It was dizzying — worse than Poe sending them spiraling upside-down, and just as unfamiliar. But good. _Amazing_. Bumping against him, Poe’s teeth slipped against his bottom lip, and Ben opened his mouth in slight surprise.

 _“Oh,”_ he whispered, voice tinged with wonder. Poe kept going, his tongue brushing lightly over Ben’s in a way that sent a full body shiver down his spine.

 _Force alive_ , but Poe Dameron was kissing him and it felt like he should explode or die — or both, like a magnificent Jedi supernova. Insistent fingers pulled at his hair and Ben’s breath hitched. He pulled Poe closer, wrapping his arms around him with sudden ease as Poe continued to annex as much of his space as he could manage. Ben tilted his head, tentatively nipping at Poe’s bottom lip as the pilot — _his_ pilot, something possessive in him declared — let out a soft sigh.

Relief relaxed the knot in his stomach that had tightened in panic — Poe seemed to know what he was doing, but Ben — Ben was grateful for Poe. Poe who was _kissing_ _him_. Fervently. Wonderfully. With skill and deliberation that made Ben gasp, and would have made him anxious at his own lack of skill if he could've formed the thought.

When Poe finally stopped it was slow, the kiss tapering off by fractions until Ben felt nothing more than a smile against his mouth, and Poe tracing light circles over his neck. For a moment, Ben considered opening his mouth again to say something, but then thought better of it. Logically, Ben was fairly certain someone couldn’t be kissed stupid, but illogically — _well_. Ben didn’t trust his coherency. The world had narrowed itself completely to the warm tips of Poe’s calloused, golden-brown fingers slipping over his exposed skin, and under his collar.

After a long moment, Ben still dazed, Poe took a half step back. Sudden anxiety flared in Ben’s chest, panicking at having already screwed up, before Poe brushed his hands over his chest, lightly tugging his tunic. He stilled, staring at Poe as the pilot did a quick peripheral sweep of their surroundings.

“ _Benji_ ,” Poe said, a laugh bubbling in his voice. “You should put the leaves back.”

“I — what?” Ben asked, feeling his face heat. It was a code, obviously. Something Ben didn’t know — Ben knew _things_ , of course, but he hadn’t — he _wasn’t_ — He was a Jedi padawan. He hadn’t had time to learn the sorts of things Poe Dameron knew, or to practice doing anything with his tongue like Poe seemed to do with ease. That was beginning to look like a grave error on the part of his Jedi training. 

“Look,” Poe said, nudging him lightly. “The leaves. You should put them back.” Poe repeated, as Ben turned to look in the direction Poe was gesturing towards, over their shoulders. Tree bark dug into Ben’s back as he craned his head, his hands still at Poe’s hips.

He blinked, startled at the scene around them. There were, in fact, leaves. And they were _everywhere_. Like outstretched palms they hovered in the air, beckoning delicately. The jungle floor’s topmost layer had been pulled up, and frozen in place, all with an entirely subconscious exercise of the Force. Ben marveled for a moment, the hush of immobile flora crowning Poe’s thick brown curls in a halo and highlighting his silhouette. Blue fronds and fallen nebula orchids dabbled in the mix like fractures of the blue sky and stars above them.

If he’d done it on _purpose_ , Ben thought, he would have been pleased with the finesse of it.

“Oh,” he said finally, biting his lip. “Right.” He agreed, flexing his will as he withdrew his hands from Poe. With a dull rustle, the whole thing - leaves, fronds, petals - fell back against the jungle floor.

Without so much as a beat, Poe leaned in again, quickly pressing a kiss to Ben’s cheek. “C’mon,” he said, reaching for Ben's hand, “...I think I need to go brag about winning the race.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tionne is another borrow from the EU. I'm partial to the librarian/archivist Jedi type, who frankly, just wants to learn everything and forget all the fighting nonsense.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated! 
> 
>  
> 
> Because I like knowing when things are, all given dates will be rendered BBY or ABY (before the battle of Yavin, or after the Battle of Yavin). For reference's sake, and because none of us remember this all from memory: 
> 
> The Galactic Empire is established 19 BBY.  
> A New Hope (Episode 4) is the Battle of Yavin.  
> The Return of the Jedi (Episode 6) is 4 years ABY. [And the Battle of Endor]  
> The Battle of Jakku is one year after the Battle of Endor, or 5 ABY.  
> The Force Awakens (Episode 7) is 30 years after the battle of Endor, or 34 ABY.  
> Ben is meant to be 29-30 in The Force Awakens. 
> 
> Therefore the events of Shatterpoint will take place after he is 13 years old, roughly 20-23 ABY, I think. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also shout out to Ben Solo's _wretched_ crush on Poe Dameron. We've all been there, buddy.


End file.
